


Ian Gallagher Is A Haunted Man

by Lalablowlooza



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dirty Talk, Drinking, EGChallenge3, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fist Fights, Halloween Challenge, Halloween Costumes, HalloweenGallavich, Heavy Angst, JealousIan, Jealousy, Kink, M/M, Nipple Play, Sadness, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalablowlooza/pseuds/Lalablowlooza
Summary: It’s Halloween 2018.Ian Gallagher ripped Mickey Milkovich’s heart out of his chest 3 years ago.He hasn’t seen him since. Which is good, for Mickey.Tonight he’s going to a fucking costume party at Mandy’s new place. He’s not wearing a costume.Yippy fucking kai yay.





	Ian Gallagher Is A Haunted Man

Mickey Milkovich hates parties. He especially hates Halloween parties. Fucking people wearing fucked up costumes pretending they’re not the fucking losers they normally were 364 days a year. If Mickey could have talked his sister out of dragging him to the lamest party this end of South Side, he’d be at home drinking real beer, balls deep into some twink he might have picked up hours ago. But noo, fucking Mandy had to guilt him into coming to her new place in Near South Side and meet some of her stuffy co-worker friends. “You gotta get out more Mickey,” she’d whined at him just yesterday. “I promise there’ll be at least some gay men to hold your attention,” she looked at him more seriously. “Seriously, you need to stop fucking losers and find someone to keep you happy on the regular.” With that she walked away from him confident in the knowledge he’d be here. Not that Mickey gave a shit about her hook up scam, but he was bored and had already plowed his way through half of Boys Town so some new faces would at least be a distraction. Lately he was haunted by memories of the only face he’d ever cared to look at for more than three seconds. Three years after the worst heartbreak of Mickey’s whole life, the only heartbreak let’s be honest, and he still couldn’t get that fucking face out of his head. The only face ingrained in his psyche so deeply he built a fortress of ice and fog around his heart just so he could keep breathing. Eyes bloodshot, brimmed with tears, hair burning like fire in the cold winter sun… pale skin shivering in the brisk air… no jacket, he wore no jacket that idiot… _No. Don’t think about it. Don’t_.

Fuck.

Mickey really needs a distraction. A good blow job wouldn’t fucking hurt either. So he dragged his ass down to this stupid party, pulling on his usual plain black t-shirt and black jeans, and throwing on his leather jacket. He paused to look at himself in the mirror for two seconds, thinking he looked pretty fucking gangster, before he remembered how stupid this whole costume bullshit was. Fucking Mandy.

So he walked into the cool night air of Chicago in the fall, and made his way to his sister’s new town house. It wasn’t fancy, but he could tell it was at least well maintained. He was happy for his sister. She found a way to blend her street skills with selling expensive shit and make a damn good living. He was proud of her. Maybe he’d even tell her so if this party didn’t totally fucking suck.

Monster Mash vibrated through the windows as Mickey opened the unlocked door and walked inside. He was only slightly irritated Mandy just left her fucking door open like that. _Don’t be an asshole, don’t be an asshole_. He smiles to himself, there better be some good cock sucking distractions at this party. The last time someone swallowed his load and blew his mind was… no! _What the fuck is wrong with you tonight Milkovich?_ But he was paused by memories of soft red lips wrapped around his cock, taking him down his throat, eyes watering, hair a fucking mess, damn it! That fucker used to be so hungry for his dick…

Fuck!

 _Don’t think about him_. Plenty of twinks in this sea. Right? With that reminder Mickey looks around the crowded, smoke filled living room for his sister. Where the fuck was she? And how long is Monster Mash anyway, it’s annoying as fuck.

“Hey, you want a drink?” a voice says loudly and a little too close. People have no fucking boundaries at parties! He turns to face a pretty blond, with eyes a reflection of his own, and a lopsided expression that makes it obvious this guy’s already a few fruity drinks in at this party. Mickey takes his time looking the kid up and down. Probably about 20, surfer hair, Abercrombie t-shirt, and some kind of green coloured ripped jeans that show off his tanned thighs and legs. Hmm, could be down for this.

“Yea sure”, Mickey replies, “Whatcha got?” The kid gives him a bottle with some kind of orange liquid and Mickey winces as he reads the label. What the fuck is wrong with people?

“It’s good, trust” the kid smiles at him and Mickey thinks maybe he’s found his twink after all. Now time to get outta here and get to the business of his blowjob.

The music is loud and thumping. I mean MJ’s Thriller is a classic, but does it have to be played on repeat for fucks sake? Mickey looks at surfer boy, ready to find a room. Preferably sound proof.

“Sooo what are you supposed to be?” surfer boy looks Mickey up and down, obviously trying to figure what his fashion choice of all black means for this party. “Some kind of goth gangster?” he laughs like it’s really funny. Raising one eyebrow Mickey measures the kid again, trying to decide if all this talking is worth getting his dick sucked. He shrugs, “I’m not really into small talk man” he says a little abruptly but fuck it he’s not here to find a boyfriend or some shit. He fucking surely doesn’t want a boyfriend. In fact, the word boyfriend hasn’t been in his vocabulary for three years and will never fucking cross his lips ever again. _Don’t think about him, don’t think about him_!

Fuck!

__________

 

Ian Gallagher loves parties. He especially loves Halloween parties. When Mandy invited him to what promised to be a candy fest of hot men and costumes he'd thought that maybe the world had ended. Mandy and him used to be best friends, but time and family loyalty had forced them to keep some distance. He hadn’t seen her in at least a year, and the last text he got from her was some group text saying Merry Christmas followed by a middle finger and a shit emoji. He still loved the shit out of her though, and couldn’t wait to hug and spin her around like when they were kids. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much of a costume guy. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he ever went to a costume party in his neighbourhood. Leave it to Mandy to rent this boujie place after she moved out and found a job north side at some car dealership. It seemed she was doing real well selling fancy Mercedes to even fancier hipsters. ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel’ she’d laughed when he asked her how she could stand dealing with North Siders on the daily. But she called him, and he missed her, so he threw on his blue Joker t-shirt with ripped blue jeans and combed his hair in that old 1950s slick back style, trying to pull off creepy, but also hot enough to get some ass tonight. Looking at his reflection he figures he looks like the Joker’s evil brother. Good enough!

He knew Declan was heading to the party and he’d been looking forward to seeing if they could take what they started a few weeks ago at some bar in Boys Town to a whole new, and more personal, level. He wanted to feel something. Anything. He hadn’t had an honest to god emotion since... no, he wouldn’t think of him. He couldn’t think of him. The heat of his breath caught in the cold wind as he paused by the fence. Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, deep breaths. Eyes the colour of blue ice, cracking under the heat of Ian’s words… God, was there a fucking day when he didn’t think of Mickey Milkovich? Was there a fucking heart beat, a breath, a fucking single minute when Mickey’s face didn’t give him pause? He needed to move on. Mickey did. Rumour around Boys Town was that Mickey moved on well and good since Ian fucked up the only thing that mattered in his shit filled life. He’d heard enough of the swaggering brunette and all his ‘gangster stamina’ from too many of Mickey’s conquests. He really didn’t need any more convincing. Mickey had moved on. Ian needed to do the same.

Maybe tonight would be the night! What with it all being the solstice or whatever the shit Debbie went on about around this time of year. What did she say again, the veil was thin? Ghosts crossed from one temporal space to another? He couldn’t really remember, but he hoped the ghosts stayed on their side tonight, Ian was haunted by a blue ocean gaze enough on the daily, and he really didn’t need any other vengeful spirit stalking him.

When he arrives at the house, the party’s in full swing and the minute Mandy’s eyes catch his she runs at him in classic Notebook fashion and leaps trusting he’ll catch her. He always does. She’s light and small and the breath of her laughter tickles his neck as she wraps her arms around him and squeezes him a little too tight. “I’ve missed you so much bestie!” she smiles into his neck, and maybe her blues eyes seem a little watery when she looks up. He stares at her almost in awe. He’s always loved how much Mandy looks like her brother. It used to soothe him on the days he couldn’t see Mickey. He’d just stare at her talking or laughing or placing her smoke just in the corner of her mouth and think of him. Dream of him. Seriously, Mandy’s blue eyes probably saved his life while Mickey was in juvie.

He winces at the memory and Mandy smacks him playfully on the shoulder, “I’m not that heavy, asshole” her voice still full of warmth as she unwraps herself and steps down out of his embrace. “No, Mands, sorry...” he has no words. _You remind me of your brother. You remind me of joy_. A universe of blue love and pale skin. “Yeah it's cool,” she looks around distracted. “I gotta go make sure the beer’s cold and everyone’s here” she smiles back at him and he’s sure she’s looking for someone. “K Mands, no worries, I invited someone, so I should probably make sure he gets here ok” Ian steps back a little, worried he’s said too much. They’ve never talked about the break up. By the time Ian was on his meds and able to pull his life back together she’d already moved out of the Milkovich house and spent much of her time working. Their small text conversations never felt like the right time to bring it up, and time just slipped away from them. Now it felt weird to just bring it up. “Oh,” she looks at him, eyes blank, face straight, “Cool, well I gotta really check on all these peeps and I’ll grab you a beer or something.” She moves away from him still holding his right hand in hers “Love you, dickface” she laughs “Don’t think you’re getting away from me this time” she lets go of his fingers one at a time. “Love you too bestie” he smiles and watches her get lost in the crowd. So much regret. So much loss. He feels the weight of all his mistakes cave into his chest and he grips his shirt trying to take a breath.

“Hey good looking, there you are!” a slightly lilted voice reaches through the ache in Ian’s lungs. _You’re ok, breathe, you’re not drowning_. Not drowning. Not anymore. He looks up slowly, heart slowing down, lungs filling with air. Sometimes the loss gets him like this, when he’s least expecting it. When the memory of those words floats far away to the edges, when he almost forgets, and then it all comes crashing down on him like rolling waves, knocking the air out of his body ‘This is it… this is you breaking up with me? Yeah…’ like punishment.

“Hey Declan, you found the place” he looks up at his date and tries to anchor himself in the man’s amber eyes. Declan’s whole face brightens, “Sweet fuckin Jesus I love your costume!” Declan reaches out and flutters his fingers above Ian’s gelled back hair, “And this hair, that’s hot babe, you’re one hot fucker” he laughs and pulls Ian in for a hug. Ian goes, allowing himself to feel the embrace, hoping Declan’s enthusiasm will fill his empty chest. “Yeah,” he laughs a little “thanks, and are you seriously wearing a Batman cape?” Ian laughs for real now.

“Is it too much to think we’re soulmates cause I’m wearing this cape?” Declan laughs and pulls Ian by the hand as he turns to walk towards what must be the kitchen. _Soulmates_. Ian covers the hot jab in his hallowed heart with humor, “Well you haven’t even sucked my dick man, so let’s save the soulmate talk till I’ve tested your gag reflex”. He chuckles a little at his own joke, though to be honest, Declan better not have a gag reflex if tonight’s gonna go anything like he plans.

“Yeah yeah, I’m ready to down your monster cock babe, but let’s get a drink first” Declan walks further into the kitchen and pulls open the top of a cooler laying on the floor, next to the fridge. What’s with the babe shit? They’ve barely made out and they’re in babe mode? Ugh. Ian ignores the endearment and pulls his hand out of Declan’s to reach for the cooler. He really can’t drink on his meds, so he’ll have to make this one last. “How bout we find a place upstairs and you prove it” he moves slowly towards the man and wraps his arms around his neck. Declan is about 6 feet tall so their lips line up easily while standing. He has dark brown hair that curls a little at the ends, and he’s long and lean with smooth tanned skin. When his coworkers first saw Declan pick him up last week they oohed and aahed telling him they make such a ‘cute’ couple. Ian looks at him now, eyes roving his face… he really is a beautiful man. The kind of man Ian can see other people imagining him with. The kind of man Ian can easily feel comfortable with, spend his days with, have lunches and dinners with friends with… the kind of man for which domestic probably comes easy, and Ian almost dreams that dream. But as he leans in to kiss his date he feels nothing but sadness… emptiness… aaaannnd he’s back into panic mode.

“Hey, you ok?” Declan’s worried voice reaches him. “Hey, come babe, come let’s go upstairs where you can lie down a bit, you look like shit.” There goes that babe bit again. Ian’s pulse is beating a staccato in his ears or else he’d tell his date to shut the fuck up with the babe calling. But he leans into him as Declan carries him up a short flight of stairs and knocks on the door to their right. “Come on, it’s empty. Let’s lie down here for a bit ok?” Declan deposits him gently on the bed and Ian drops his head in his hands. He feels the hardness of his gelled hair on his thumbs, but his head is too heavy to pull up. “Thanks, sorry” he mumbles. Wow he’s gotta be the lamest date ever. “Sorry, this is so lame. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, truly” he sighs heavily. Maybe seeing Mandy was too much. Too much memories, too much loss, too much blue ocean eyes for his heart to take all at once. “Hey, no worries, “ Declan says easily, “you wanted to get a room anyway right?” a smile in his voice, “Well, we got a room,” his date continues, “Now as soon as you can breathe maybe we can have our own private party” he kneels in front of Ian and cups his face. “I promised you a gag free blowjob and I’m a man of my word” he winks, and Ian can’t help but burst out a relived laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly what I need to take the edge off” he smiles. And maybe cloud the memories that have decided tonight’s the night to come into clear focus. Fucking Debbie with her fucking veil talk! The ghosts really are haunting for their revenge!

____________

 

“Listen are we gonna fuck around or you just gonna stand here drinking girl drinks all night?” Mickey looks at the blond and a part of him hopes this kid just tells him to fuck off and leaves. He runs a hand over his face in frustration. The music is too loud, the smoke is fogging his mind. _You’re fucking still ruined_ a small voice whispers, _still fucking wrecked_. No. No, no. Mickey pushes out of his head. No.

“Ah, I get it now” surfer boy smirks at Mickey, “You’re like a hot scary gangster huh?” he sticks out his hand, “I’m Ryan.” Mickey looks at his hand, not big enough, and looks up. “Good for you”, he grumbles, “bathroom or bedroom?”

The kid smiles like their sharing a joke or some shit, grabs Mickey by the wrist and turns towards the stairs. Mickey’s really hoping this leads to the bedroom area of this fucking townhouse. He lets himself be led thru bouncing bodies more out of boredom rather than interest but fuck it, he needs to blow his load then find his way home to drink a real fucking drink. Surfer boy is pulling him up the stairs when Mickey looks up and misses a step. “You ok?” the kid turns around chuckling a little, but Mickey's lost all sense of sound and motion. He’s drowning in an ocean of vibration, blood pumping a tornado in his veins.

 _What that living shit_? Holy fuck! No. Coming down the stairs at this exact same moment is his fucking worst and best nightmare. He can’t breathe, he needs to move, can’t breathe. The red headed monster hasn’t seen him yet. He’s smiling up behind him at some guy wearing a cheap batman costume who’s holding on to his shoulders and gently pushing him down the stairs.

 _Get out get out_!

Mickey takes a step back but there’s bodies behind him. “Hey man, come up with me,” the surfer kid, what was his name, Brian, Dylan? Fuck who cares! Mickey needs to turn now, get out, get out, disappear. The kid yanks his wrist firmly, “I promised you a good time, and I’m planning to deliver” he says a little too loud not noticing Mickey shrinking in his own skin.

And then it happens, fuck Mickey knew it would be inevitable. Like a fucking comet aiming for earth in the apocalypse, a forest of green finds and ocean of blue, and the world is fucking ending. Again. Time stops, and in between the particles of air and smoke Mickey watches in horror as the red headed beast shifts from a smiling, care free fucker, to shock, need, pity… regret…

(Here’s something you might not know about Mickey: he has a heart frozen in stone. Frozen by the very same life sucking, pale angelic, blood draining, beautiful assassin coming down the stairs at this very moment. If Mickeys heart was not encased in ice, dear reader, it might have bled all of its hotIan Gallagherflavoured heart juice all over the fucking floor!)

 _Fuck you_! Mickey screams in his head as he’s jolted back into his body like a lighting bolt. _Fuck your pity, you fucking asshole_! He wrenches his wrist out of the kid’s grip, turns mid step and shoves every single body out of his way. Fuck this shit, fuck this. Fuck that red headed beautiful fucking abomination, who the fuck is he to pity him, fuck this shit, Mickey needs air, he needs a smoke, he needs to fuckin die!

___________________

 

The room is a plain beige colour and Ian could’ve sworn Mandy was an edgier decorator when they were kids. I guess black walls and ‘fuck the police’ stickers were probably not in her décor anymore, he chuckles to himself.

“Glad you’re feeling better babe” Declan smiles up at him and Ian needs a second to remember why Declan's on his knees in between his legs. Blow job, right. Good, yes. This is exactly what Ian needs right now. Someone to suck his dick and distract him from all the reminiscing tonight.

“You know Red,” Declan smirks at him confidently, “With a dick this good, I’ll suck it whenever you want.” _Suck my dick. Whenever I want_. Ugh no, no more memories. The look on Mickey’s face… ‘fuck off,’ Mickey had shrugged it off… like Ian didn’t know he was dying to wet his lips and take him right there. What a great night that had been. Mickey sucking him off, Ian taking control half way thru and making him see stars… falling asleep together in that tiny bed in his old room…

“Hey Red,” Declan waves a hand in front of his face, “You wanna sit up for a second so I can pull down these tight as fuck jeans?”

“Yeah,” Ian snaps out of the time warp and lifts his hips so his jeans can slide off. What is it with tonight? Why can’t he shake the ghost of Mickey’s face as he whispered _I’ll do it_.

 _I’ll do it_. Three words that meant more to Ian than I want you, or I need you, or I love you, ever could.

 _I’ll do it_.

 _I’ll do it_. And Ian forgave him everything. Everything, and more.

“Ok babe, you’re gonna have to help me cause I’m getting the feeling I’m alone in this blow job session.”

What. Wait. Ian can’t focus. The ghosts fog his vision, enter his pores, he breathes and they're in his lungs. He looks down trying to clear his head and watches as Declan pulls his dick out of his boxers and starts thumbing the base. Yeah, that’s not bad. He could definitely get into this. He tilts his head back and –

“What the fuck!” he hears Mandy’s familiar anger and jumps up shoving Declan backwards on his ass. A raging storm of ocean blues stare him down and he almost takes a seat on the bed again. “Wow, OK, don’t let me break up your fucking blow job fest in my fucking house!” she growls at him. Is she drunk? Ian feels embarrassed anger reddening his face. “Mands, sorry, we were just - ”

“I know what you were ‘just’,” she mimes in air quotes, “Not what I had in mind when I invited you over asshole, but you do you I guess. Like fucking always.” And with that angry jab she turns and storms out of the room as dramatically as she came in.

Fuck.

Tonight's an epic shit storm. Why did he even come out here? And why did he think that seeing Mandy, being in her house, looking at her face, wouldn’t bring back all the ghosts he'd been trying to avoid for so long!

“Listen,” he turns to Declan who’s still sitting on the floor, ass on heels, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll go grab us a couple of beers and maybe we can blow this bullshit party for some uninterrupted fucking at my place?”

“Yea, I’m down for that,” Declan says excitedly and Ian smiles the first honest smile he’s had for this man all night. Yes, he needs to get out of here. Get away from all the melancholy and get drunk and laid. This was not the night for remembering. He was going to lose himself in anything that took the memories away and close whatever fucking gate he opened for all the ghosts to be haunting him.

Coming out of the bedroom, he walks through the short hallway with Declan behind him. He’s almost down the stairs when Ian Gallagher has to admit he really must be a haunted man. Because right there, right in front of him, was a face which memories didn’t do justice. And those eyes… those eyes he spent years getting lost in… years searching for any signs of love or adoration… _does he get that look in his eyes_? Fuck the look in those eyes right now was sheer panic.

_____________________

 

Mickey was so fucked! This really was a house of horrors. Why did he ever come to this god damn fucking Halloween party? How could Ian be here? And he’s with someone? Fuck this shit, Mickey’s hands turn to fists and he wants to hit something, anything, preferably Gallagher’s fucking face. His rage, hot and smooth like lava, burns in his lungs, his eyes, his groin. How long has it been since Mickey touched Ian? Or been touched by him… soft freckled skin wrapped around hard muscle, heat and warmth and fire… Ian was fire. His love burned Mickey’s whole world and if he wasn’t careful Mickey would once again turn to dust and fall apart.

Leaning against the back porch, he digs into his pockets for his smokes and lighter. If anything was gonna burn, he was going to be the one to light it.

The screen door slams open and a giant ginger comes rushing through it, hot air from the kitchen blowing fall leaves on the porch floor.

“Mickey,” Ian comes to a surprised halt in front of him, his breath ragged, like his lungs can’t take in enough air. Mickey refuses to acknowledge his cock twitching at the sight. He stares at Ian, slowly taking in his fucking beautiful flushed face, his muscled chest heaving, his large hands dangling at his sides. He feels nothing. _Liar_. Ok fine, he does feel something: cold, calculated fury. Yeah, that’s exactly what he feels. So he straightens to his full height, breathes smoke out his nose slowly and stands as close to Ian as he dares.

“Coward,” he whispers, tendrils of smoke slipping out his mouth. He looks down at Ian’s chest and slowly back to meet a forest of green, “That’s a fitting shirt,” his voice barely controlled, “Guess that asshole I saw you with’s your Batman?”

“Who?” Ian asks still catching his breath. He’s close enough to breathe in Mickey’s smoke and Mickey fucking swears he’ll cut off his own dick if it doesn’t stop twitching at this shit.

A heartbeat of confusion, “Oh Declan, he’s just a guy I met,” Ian says softly, “He’s no one… nothing…”

“Right. Well I don’t give a shit,” Mickey takes another drag of his smoke looking out into the back yard.

“Mickey –“

“No Gallagher. Don’t say my name. Don’t even look at me. Don’t fucking breathe your fire breathing dragon fire all over me either. Just go and pretend we never met. I do my best to pretend that every day,” he laughs without humour. _Liar_.

“Every day?” Ian asks, and is that a fucking hint of a smirk on this overgrown asshole’s mouth?

“Huh?” Mickey says a little dazed by the instant memory of red lips wrapped around his hard shaft, stroking in and out, in and out…

“You think of me every day?” Ian asks a little more boldly.

Fuck but Mickey has no answer for that.

Fuck but he walked right into that confession.

“Fuck you,” is his best response, god why is he so fucking lame around the redhead!

“Not anymore,” Ian stares at him for a moment then turns a little and steps beside him staring into the back garden. Fuck this shit. Mickey’s not gonna stand here looking at fucking petunias or whatever was growing on this hideous lawn and reminisce with Ian Gallagher like old fuck buddies. No fucking way. No fucking way was Mickey gonna let the ginger asshole feel like it’s ok to just stand there and not grovel in pain for all the heart break this fucking volcanic destruction put him through.

And so he takes another slow drag of his smoke, turns a little facing Ian’s side profile, and lets his cold, nicotine filled words cut through the moment between them, “I wonder how long it took before you were balls deep in someone else? Did your fake tears stop right away, or did the guy who’s dick you were sucking after I walked away assume those were for his cock?”

He watches as Ian turns his head, green pools of light darken with hurt.

“Mickey…” Ian whispers.

“Was it just one guy, or did you go on one of your fucking binges at the Fairy Tale? Wait, don’t answer, I’m not sure which image will make me wanna punch you more.” He’s seething now. Ice numbs his veins and that cold hard fury bleeds into the emptiness left in his lungs.

“Mickey please…” Ian is breathless and his chest is doing that heaving thing again.

“Did you shed even one of those tears for me? For the fucking way I loved you, for the way I fucking took care of you, for the way my every fucking waking moment was about you? Ian, Ian, Ian, like the bitch I promised you I’d never become.”

“Mick…” but it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

“Maybe they're right,” his body shivering with anger and hurt, and fucking sorrow, just plain unadulterated fucking sorrow, “Maybe you do have a magic dick, cause fuck me, you had me under your big cock spell for years!” he barks harshly. Mickey can’t contain it all. Words are spilling out of his mouth like icicles cutting and jabbing. He wants Ian to hurt, to bleed, to fucking cry! Again and again, Mickey wants to revel in Ian’s broken eyes.

But it doesn’t fucking work.

Of course, it doesn’t fucking work.

The heat from Ian’s closeness threatens the ice fortress around his heart. He can feel it, drip by tiny drip. He needs to move. He’s almost paralyzed with fear at what it might be like to feel Ian’s heat again. Around him, behind him, inside him. _What the fuck Milkovich_!

Ian steps towards him, and Mickey almost leaps back like a frightened kitten at the possible contact. _What is wrong with you Milkovich_! He straightens, stubs out his smoke, and lets the frigid emptiness of loss flood his voice.

“What does that even matter anymore right?” Forests of green stare back at him filled to the brim with tears. But Mickey’s not in a feelsorryforIanGallaghercrying mood, “It’s old shit now. Can barely even bring myself to care, you know? Kids and all that shit. You’ve got your Batman, and I need to go find surfer boy. Enjoy the party Gallagher. Happy fucking Halloween.” With that, he steps to the door, sighs, and yanks back the screen walking into the party.

__________________________

Mickey didn’t love him anymore.

Mickey didn’t want him anymore.

Except, something about the way he hesitated, hand on the knob, thumb rubbing his right eyebrow… something about the way he paused before he pulled on that door with too much strength and walked inside, set Ian’s heart on fire.

But Ian could not open up again. No.

He had given his pathetic puppy heart to Mickey out in that yard years ago. Mickey had been raped, beaten, humiliated and Ian had to sit helpless, trapped, and watch. He tried to find him, talk to him, push him to fight. Fight his father, fight the world, fight for them. Ian had ripped his heart out of his chest and laid it on the ground for his one true love ‘Admit it, you love me, and you’re gay.’

No.

Mickey had not been ready.

Adult Ian now sees what puppy Ian couldn’t have possibly understood.

Mickey had not been ready.

So Ian picked up his still beating heart off the dirty ground, full of its bloody love for Mick, and hid it deep inside the crater of his soul.

No.

Mickey had been the only person to ever break his heart. Honestly, the only person who ever had his heart. And when Mickey spoke those vows in front of god and family, Ian couldn’t breathe. Like a fish out of water Ian lost all ability of containing oxygen in his lungs. He was suffocating, wheezing, puking love blood all over himself, but Mickey still abandoned him. Didn’t choose him. Left him breathing his last breath while he shook hands of nuptial congratulations like Ian didn’t even exist. Ian was invisible to Mickey, just like he was invisible to everyone else.

And by the time Mickey found him again he was too numb to care.

Something had died in Ian on that wedding day. Something he didn’t believe he could resurrect.

Later, when they were living with Svet and Yevy, and Mickey was making money and taking care of them, Ian began to allow himself to breathe again. He allowed himself the tiniest whisper of hope that maybe that dead part inside him was fluttering to life. That maybe, just possibly, dead and broken and ugly things could be made shiny and soft and beautiful again…

But life, that fickle bitch, did not favour the hopes and dreams of Ian Gallagher. In one swift and thundering movement he was hit by the bipolar train. In one swift and thundering movement he became a disaster. A pariah. A burden weighing heavy on the shoulders of the only person he never wanted looking at him with pity and disgust.

And then he knew it was over. He knew he couldn’t do it to Mickey. Couldn’t be everything Monica was to him his whole life. He wouldn’t. Mickey loved him, but no one could love someone like him, really. Not in the long run... not forever.

No.

He did what was best for both of them. Right?

Fuck, did he?

He spent so many years convincing himself of this as fact, and now, just one look into Mickey’s frozen blues had him falling off the cliff into doubt and desperation again.

He really didn’t know anymore. He just didn’t know.

The screen door smacks loudly against the wall as a girl with bouncing blond curls drags a guy with a gorilla mask through the threshold and falls awkwardly into Ian’s shoulder, “Oh, sorry” she laughs, and looks up at Ian. His vision blurry, Ian realizes he’s been crying. _Fuck_ , he wipes at his face and mumbles something like don’t worry about it, taking a step back. He watches the couple dance drunkenly down the steps and onto the back lawn arms clinging, lips touching, and Ian can't stand out here anymore.

Mickey is here. He’s in this house, probably upstairs, and Ian Gallagher could not stand in this back yard watching this drunken display of affection like his world wasn’t on fire. It just wasn’t in him to be in the same space with Mickey Milkovich and not be on him, in him, wrapping his arms and mouth around him like he was the beginning and end of all things.

He needed to go upstairs. No, he fucking couldn’t stop himself from going upstairs. Nothing short of the apocalypse could slow Ian’s long legs from taking the stairs two at a time and knocking on every door till he found the right one. And nothing short of planetary destruction could have calmed the volcanic rage he felt when he opened that door.

_____________________________

 

Mickey was so hallow. So god damn hallow. Fuck Gallagher, fuck his stupid pretty face, and his stupid sappy green eyes and especially fuck his bright as sunlight fucking hair. Fuck Gallagher all to hell. Man, he really wanted to fuck Gallagher all to hell.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re brooding,” surfer dude’s voice jolts him back to the present.

“The fuck you talking bout?,” he says hotly, eyebrows sky high, hand rubbing the side of his nose.

“I said you look hot when you’re angry,” blue eyes smile back at him. What the fuck is this guys name again? Brian, Byron? Fuck if he remembers.

“You got that whole bad ass mobster thing going for you, it works,” BrianByronwhateverthefuck walks closer to him.

“Sure, so are you getting on your fucking knees or we exchanging Hollywood fantasies all fucking night,” Mickey pulls him closer by his shirt.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” surfer guys says, stepping closer.

Ugh, nothing made Mickey’s dick softer than having to tell fuckers how to suck it, “If you want me to tell you how to do it I think you misunderstood my offer asshole,” Mickey steps back and takes off his leather jacket. Fuck but standing near Gallagher made him hot with…. anger. Right, anger, that was it.

“Thought you might take the lead since you’re all thunder and lightning and all that shit,” BrianwhosprobablyByron smiles a little as he walks closer to Mickey once again and rubs his arms over his biceps. Mickey shivers, fuck he feels cold again. So cold. And what the hell was it with all these guys and their Godfather film complex? Fuck this. Mickey wanted to be pushed, shoved, held down, fucking owned. He wanted to let go of all his fucking macho and be a whimpering moaning mess underneath a hard body, strong voice, and eyes as green as the ocean floor… no. _Seriously Milkovich? God damn it_! Man, he was ruined. So fucking wrecked for that ginger and there was nothing he could do about it. Destroyed. Owned by a ghost of memory and fantasy he could never escape.

“Just get on your knees and suck my dick man,” he forces himself back in the moment. Back in this boring as fuck beige bedroom that holds only a double bed and small night table. Mickey has no intention of using the bed tonight, but fuck he needs a release. A moment of fucking forgetfulness. Can he get that, or what the fuck?

“Ok boss,” the blond bimbo chuckles and finally drops to his knees. Thank fuck.

Mickey closes his eyes trying to stay in the moment. In the darkness of his eyelids memories attack him mercilessly. All he sees is Ian, on his knees, face open, eyes blown, lips parted… hungry. Mickey sees him smirking, reaching for his belt, pulling… he can feel blood rushing to his cock and Mickey swears Ian’s in the room with him.

And then, like a dreamturnnightmare come to life he’s there! And in the green grass of his eyes Mickey sees thunder, and like the sound of a deafening storm he hears lightening in his voice.

__________________________________

 

Ian’s on fire. He burns all over. A volcano threatening to erupt with each room he enters that’s filled with bodies tangled in varied erotic positions and none of them are Mickey. Where did he go? If he left with that blond loser Ian will lose his shit for real. _Mine. Mine. Mine_. The lava is hot in his belly. _Mine. Always. Mine_.

He bursts through the last room in the back of the house and stops dead in his tracks.

He growls like a rabid animal, “If your hand goes anywhere near that cock I swear to god I will break all fourteen knuckles while you count” his vision turning red. Blood pulses in his eardrums and it takes all the air in the room for him to breathe and not knock the fuck out of this surfer loser.

“What the fuck Gallagher!” Mickey jumps back a little annoyed.

“Oh nice one Mickey,” Ian barely controls himself, “You leave me outside like a fucking wet shirt so you can get sucked off by this Barbie?”

Mickey’s eyebrows almost reach his hairline, “Are you fucking serious right now?” he gives it right back, “You think you’re gonna chase me down some stairs, say my name twice and I’m gonna fall in your lap like some pathetic bitch?”

Ian watches, his face flushed with anger, his hands fisted tight at his side and fuck him but angry Mickey makes him wanna drop to his knees right here.

“No,” Mickey takes a breath, “I’ve had enough of you fucking me up Gallagher –“

“But not enough of me fucking you, right Mick,” Ian cuts him off as he steps into the room and stands as close to Mickey as he can bear.

Mickey wants to step back but he refuses to give Ian the upper hand. Ian smells so good, fuck. Heat radiates off his body and Mickey feels warm for the first time in years. Yes, his heart’s still frozen, but the giant ginger lights a spark Mickey hasn’t felt in years.

Fuck.

“Gallagher?” the surfer dude says, _what the fuck was his name_? Mickey’s can’t think with Ian this close. “I remember you! You’re that crazy Gallagher right? Ran away from the army and some other stupid shit? Aren’t you mentally retarded or something?” he laughs loudly like it’s the funniest thing.

It’s amazing how time just slows down sometimes. Incredible really. Mickey looks into the green of Ian’s eyes expecting the ginger to turn and punch the surfer asshole right in the mouth. Instead he sees the side of his lip turn into a smirk. And damn, but Mickey’s a fucking idiot! Because in this moment he has a revelation. It hits him like a two ton truck that Ian knows Mickey will beat the fuck out of anyone who let the word Gallagher and retard ever come out of their mouth. Anyone who fucking makes fun of Ian in any fucking way will lose all their teeth. And Ian fucking Gallagher knows there is no fucking way on god’s green earth Mickey is gonna stick his dick into anyone that says one bad word about his ginger idiot!

Fuck.

Mickey allows time to stand still, breathes in Ian’s smirk, forces himself to take a step away from Ian’s heat and growls his most menacing growl in the surfer fucker’s direction.

“What the fuck did you call him?” and the air tremors.

At least the surfer fuck isn’t all stupid, cause he instinctively takes a step back.

“Mickey, sorry man,” he stutters, but this kid ain’t right. He continues not realizing he’s about to lose his life, “Something’s wrong with this redhead, don’t even think about sticking your dick in his crazy” he laughs nervously.

If time could slow down, it definitely could speed up because one minute Mickey's growling at this low life, and the next he’s pummeling the living shit out of his face. Fist closed, 'fuck u up' to the jaw, over and over, until long arms wrap around him and he can hear Ian through a haze of rage and blood.

“Mickey enough, enough Mickey stop,” Ian whispers in his ear and Mickey feels the heat of his breath coil down his neck. He’s panting, rage like he hasn’t felt in years pumping adrenaline in his veins. Who the fuck was this fucker to fucking talk shit about his... no. But who the fuck was this loser though! Mickey’s still fuming but stops punishing surfer no name. He steps away from his weak moaning and looks down into his bloodied face.

“Get the fuck out before I show you how little this ginger’s holding me back,” he whispers menacingly, daring this loser to say a fucking word. Just one.

The guy manages to crawl towards the door and turns the knob with the hand that isn’t holding all his teeth in his mouth.

Fuck!

What a shit show.

________________________________

 

Ian releases his hold on Mickey and watches him turn around. Blue waters meet green pools and Ian steadies his shaking hands. He takes a step carefully, measuring Mickey’s mood. Will he let him get close? Let him be near? Mickey stays still, eyes searching Ian’s face for… something. This moment is full of so many ways things can go wrong between them but all Ian can see is Mickey hard breathing, fists at his side, fighting for his honour. Always fighting. Always fighting for him.

Mickey says nothing, and in the silence Ian steps into him. Pale skin peaks at the neck of Mickey’s tight black shirt and Ian can't make himself hold back. He angles his head slowly, hands out, taking care not to spook Mickey into retreating. He takes a lifetime to lower his face, wetting his lips to kiss the spot where Mickey’s neck meets his collarbone.

“Do you remember my mouth on you like this?” he breathes, and bravely pulls Mickey’s shirt over his head to reveal more pale delicious skin. “My breath along your collar bones,” he runs his tongue across his clavicle and Mickey’s body shakes with need. Fuck but no one smelled and tasted like this man.

“N… No… N… mhmm, fu-” Mickey’s mumbling, but he moves his head slowly, his voice hidden in Ian’s neck.

“What’s that Mick?” Ian kisses the underside of his jaw, teasing him.

Warmth pools in Mickey’s chest and he melts. He melts into the strength of Ian’s arms, his frozen heart dripping big cold drops of surrender. Heat. Defrosting. Fuck but this man has a mouth even the devil couldn’t resist.

“No, Ian, I can’t”, Mickey inhales, absorbing the heat he needs so fucking much, but steps back. “I can’t. I’m not so… easy… fuck”, he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

Fuck.

How is he so easy?

Years of nothing, no phone call, no text, no how the fuck are you Mickey, nothing, and one fucking encounter and he can’t leave the room! _What the fuck Milkovich_! He’d always been somewhat suspicious that Ian was magic, cause no one glowed like the sun and was this fucking warm on the inside and out. It was always a joke though, a way to laugh off the fact that the redhead ruled his entire world. Literally the only sunshine Mickey ever saw, or felt. Warming his skin and his soul with a love that never burned out. Mickey was a cold man. He could be soft sometimes, even loving, but he was a cold man. Normally that worked for him, both as a kid with his psychotic father, and later when the only reason he ever had for giving a shit no longer gave a shit about him… But Ian’s love had done something to him. Changed him in some fundamentally deep down way that no fucking human being should ever be able to reach or affect. Looking up at him now, hair messed, hands open, lips wet from licking him, Mickey fucking believed it: Ian Gallagher was magic. A fire breathing, hotasfuckingbrimstone evil sorcerer, and Mickey fuckuupthug Milkovich was no match for his spells.

Fuck.

“I can’t Gallagher,” he walks backwards, watching Ian’s face fall, “I just fucking can’t,” he turns and starts for the door.

And that’s when 200 lbs of ginger fucking monster hits the wooden floor, bones hitting ground, cracking.

“What the –“Mickey turns around and the ice fractures around his heart.

Ian’s head is down, long tresses of red falling over his eyes, knees on the ground, hands clenching and opening. His chest is heaving and Mickey knows its cause there’s no more air left in the room. He can’t stand it, can’t watch this, can’t see all this firelight go out. Fuck him but he can’t leave and that’s the fucking truth. And, looking down at Ian now, Mickey’s haunted by another truth. He remembers years ago, Ian on a much different concrete floor, in a much different abandoned yard, head down, breathing shallow, bloody lip. He winces. His lip was bleeding, and his god dam beautiful face was looking at him like Mickey was the whole world. Like Mickey was the sun.

He closes his eyes and sees Ian’s bleeding heart. He sees it like Ian had literally ripped it out of his chest and left it on the broken concrete. An offering. A choice.

And he knows now what he’s known all along. He knows now what he knew the minute he saw this stupid puppy with his big green eyes looking up at him that first day in his bedroom: that nothing in all the fucking universe, no years of pain, no angry words, no frozen heart, could ever make him not love Gallagher. No, nothing could ever make him feel the way Ian’s finger tips felt caressing the back of his neck, the way his lips burned a trail across his skin, the way he filled him like Mickey would never be empty again. Mickey spent so much time trying to erase him from his body and his mind, but deep deep down, in the hollowness of his soul he felt branded, owned, almost like Gallagher had signed his name in large font across this heart.

And Mickey was fucking tired of not getting what he wanted, not getting what was his, and Ian fucking Gallagher was his.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he drops to his knees lifting Gallagher’s chin with his hand. Fields of green, wet with regret stare back at him. Fuck him but he was getting hard just watching that much emotion flow out of this man. It’s been years since Mickey saw this look of raw love and desperation.

“Can’t breathe without you Mick,” Ian chokes a little on his words “Miss you, want you, can’t be without you. Never without you,” his eyes find Mickey’s lips and fuck him but Mickey’s a sadist for this whimpering idiot.

“So, what you’re saying then,” he pauses for effect, “is that you’ll suck my dick whenever I want?”

“What?” Ian’s voice is wet and surprised.

“Suck my dick?” Mickey says again, “Whenever I want?” he watches as memory lifts Ian’s lips into an open smile, and man it’s gotta be a fucking haunted night cause all Mickey sees is 17 year old Ian looking at him with that IownyourwholefuckingworldMickeyMilkovich look. And damn he’s an idiot but it makes him smile like a gay fucking loser right back.

“Yeah, Mick” he smirks that fucking Gallagher smirk, “whenever you want.”

Heat warms in Mickey's belly and a torment of emotions erupt inside him.

“Mick,” Ian breathes, wrapping one hand behind Mickey’s neck and pulling him in, “Miss you,” his breath warm on Mickey’s face as he pulls him so close their chests touch and Mickey feels Ian’s heart thundering against him. “Miss you,” hot lips burning and wet against Mickey’s throat. Ian skims his neck, under his chin, over his mouth, “Want you,” he mouths over him and plunges his open mouth over Mickey’s desperate lips. The kiss is bruising, intense, needy as fuck and Mickey can’t get enough. He opens his mouth wider giving himself over to the dominance of Ian’s hands maneuvering his head to the side so he can plummet his tongue deeper and deeper down his throat until Mickey can’t tell where he begins and Ian ends.

Fuck.

Mickey hasn’t kissed anyone in three years. He’s never kissed anyone but this ginger incubus and for a good fucking reason. Ian doesn’t just kiss Mickey, he fucking inhales him. His mouth so eager Mickey can’t ever imagine not kissing Ian. How had he gone so long without this fucking branding tongue in his mouth?

“Please Mickey,” Ian begs, and Mickey might just embarrass himself by cuming in his pants. Ian moves his hot lips under Mickey’s ear, sucking and biting his way to the crook of his neck, “You smell so good,” he breathes and Mickey moans like a fucking virgin who’s never been touched or some shit. “You taste so good,” Ian licks and nips and licks again over his shoulder, neck, and back up the underside of his ear.

Mickey’s a melody, a song of _Ian, Ian, Ian_ , a harmony and symphony as Ian’s mouth moves south on his body. He lifts Mickey’s shirt over his head barely breaking contact and comes right back to lick and suck one nipple until the hardened bud feels oversensitive and Mickey shivers as Ian gently bites down. Licking his lips he finds his way to the other side and treats Mickey’s other nipple with the same affection. Mickey bows his back and Ian wraps one arm around his waist holding him still against the onslaught of his hot fucking mouth. He’s fucking gone and Ian takes his time licking, soothing, melting the cold wall of ice, breaking the barrier Mickey’s build over the last three years. Melting him like lava, burning him from the inside out until all the years of bottled down feelings gush to the surface and erupt in an echo of repetitious _Ian, Ian, Ian_.

“Fuck, Ian...”

____________________

 

Ian swears he was born to kiss Mickey. His mouth can’t get enough of cool pale skin, can’t breathe enough of that deep musk Mickey smell. He can’t stop sucking, marking, biting, begging.

“Fuck Mick, you’re so good,” he hums against his stomach, working the buckle on his jeans, “Never without you Mick, never… No more without you” he whimpers, but this time the sound tightens in his gut and all he wants is to be naked and inside his man, feeling him fall apart all around him. He tightens his arm around Mickey’s waist and lifts him up so they’re both standing. Mickey loves being manhandled so it’s not surprise when the hard ass brunette melts into him as they stand. Green pools of hunger meet blue lakes of need and Ian knows Mickey's halfway gone, pupils blown out, lost in the euphoria of heat and wet and blood rushing to the hard cock Ian has no trouble feeling on his leg.

“Can you stand?” he words across Mickey’s mouth, and Mickey nods his head, too dazed to speak. Ian’s eyes roam his face and fuck he loves it when Mickey’s face is blown out like this. He’s gonna spend hours turning his man out tonight. He’s gonna suck him so deep and fuck him so hard Mickey Milkovich will never, ever, want anyone else inside him. Mickey is his, and Ian Gallagher was staking his claim.

_______________________

 

Fuck, had it always felt his good? Yes bitchibelongtoiangallagher, it’s always felt this good.

Mickey can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Ian’s actually here, dropping to his knees, eager to take his cock in his mouth. His belt is open, and Ian quickly unbuttons Mickey’s jeans and pulls both pants and boxers down his legs. Mickey’s cock is so fucking hard it hurts and Ian takes the weeping head between his lips and sucks the precum like he’s desperate to be fed. His tongue works circles around the tip while his large hand grips the base.

“Fuck, Gallagher, keep your hand still or I’ll fucking cum before you have me down your throat” Mickey pants. His body’s on fire, his knees tingling and weak, he’s not sure the ginger asshole’s planning to show any mercy for his throbbing dick.

“I got you, Mick,” Ian breathes hot fire over the tip and swallows him down, hollowing out his cheeks.

“Fuck me,” Mickey feels dizzy, his back slightly bent, his arm reaching out to hold on to Ian’s shoulder. And he’s fucking right, Gallagher shows no mercy, working his tight mouth up and down his shaft one hand reaching under and massaging his balls, “Fuck… so good… suck it, fuck… yeah like that,” Mickey pants and runs his fingers through red gelled hair pulling Ian deep against him feeling his cock hit the back of the redheads throat. “Wait,” he says breathlessly. Ian looks up at him, eyes blown, tears pooling in the corners, throat lose and open. “Fuck you’re beautiful taking my cock like that,” Mickey’s voice hoarse and full of need. His pulls on Ian’s hair a little, slowly pulling out his dick, watching those full red lips move down his shaft. “Take it so good, so fucking good,” he pulls him back up, hitting his throat again. Ian hums and stretches his tongue wide and tight against the vein on the underside of Mickeys cock, “Fuck, your mouth was made for my cock,” he shakes and moans and loses himself in pulling Ian’s head up and down his dick making him take it all, not giving him a chance to pull away, to take a breath. He fucks into his mouth while Ian hums and licks, drool pooling at the side of his mouth, tears leaking down his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck… take it, take it, fuck, so good…” Mickey loses all train of thought, loses his voice, fire burns in his belly, whirls up into his groin and shoots out his cock like a fucking fire hydrant unlocked on a hot summer day. He rides out the storm of his orgasm losing all time and space, while Ian milks and licks until his body spasms with too much stimulation, too much heat.

Gallagher looks up at him, tear streaks on his face, mouth swollen and smirking as he works his way up Mickey’s body taking his mouth like he owns it. Mickey opens widely, willingly, satiated but not full, never full. A moth to a fucking fire red flame that’s what he is. A comet rushing for the sun, accepting its own destruction. He lets Ian dominate his mouth, licking and tasting himself and the bitter salty taste of tears.

Fuck.

___________________________________

 

“Jesus Christ Mickey, I want in you so bad,” Ian brushes his lips against Mickey’s cheek. Softly he glides his mouth across the bridge of Mickey’s nose, slowly across the other side of his face, over his jaw, over his Adam’s apple. Mickey’s fucking wrecked. He’s beyond sensitive and this gentle pressure of Ian’s lips is unraveling all his resistance. He realizes with fucking crystal clarity there’s no way he’s not banging the shit out Ian tonight. And it’s like the minute his mind gives his heart permission, Mickey lets go. He grabs Ian’s biceps and twists him so the redhead is thrown on his back on the bed next to them. Mickey stares at Ian’s surprised smile and fuck he’s beautiful. Why did the gods carve out such a perfect human for him? Every single freckle, every muscle twitching in anticipation, every fucking sparkle in those green eyes, makes Mickey a weak bitch for this man.

“You got lube and shit,” he smiles down at the ginger goof.

“I mean, I always come prepared,” Ian laughs and he pulls a small tube out of his pocket and a couple of condoms.

Mickey’s momentarily distracted by the massive bulge in his jeans as he digs in his pockets, “Fuck,” he breathes. (You could call Mickey Milkovich a size queen but he’d punch you in the face, so fucking don’t.) Looking at Ian growing impossibly bigger under Mickeys stare, he comes to the conclusion he needs that massive cock in him like yesterday.

“Take your clothes off,” he says and it comes out a little needier than he intends.

Ian, god fucking bless him, doesn’t even blink. He sits up on the edge of the bed, reaches for the back of his shirt and in a fuckinghotashell move he strips it up and over his head.

“All of it, “Mickey watches hungrily and Ian’s breath hitches. He unbuckles his jeans and pulls his boxers and pants down catching his socks and throwing the clothes to the side. He props his hands on either side and stares up at Mickey expectantly.

Ian’s used to running the show, taking control and manhandling Mickey in all the ways that make him soft and pliant under him. But this feels different. And Ian knows Mickey needs this. He needs to be in control, to make the move, to have Ian at his mercy. Heat pools in Ian’s belly watching Mickey bite his lower lip, slowly running his hungry blues all over his body. His dick twitches, and Mickey lets out a soft moan. Ian slides his hands a little back and leans into them opening himself up for more of Mickey’s starving gaze. And fuck but he wants to lick him all over. He sits up reaching for Mickey’s waist.

“No,” Mickey holds Ian’s hands with his own, the 'fuck u up' wrapped tightly around Ian’s fingers, “No touching Gallagher,” Mickeys voice is hoarse and despite his desperate need to grab and pull and feel Mickey all around him, Ian relents, slowly placing his hands on the bed and leaning back again.

Satisfied Ian won’t make any sudden movement, Mickey grabs the packet of lube and squeezes some on his two fingers.

“Mickey, I wanna –“

“Not a fucking word Gallagher,” Mickey watches him as he lowers his hand and starts massaging his opening. Gallagher’s mouth is open and he licks his lips wetly, his eyes hungry watching Mickey getting himself ready.

“Lie back,“ he orders and Ian flattens, greens open wide, sparkling into controlled blue. Lying on his back makes Ian’s dick twitch as it swells almost painfully and Mickey’s mouth waters. Fuck he wants to lick up all that dribbling sweet liquid and have Ian on his tongue. He bends over the bed, puts both hands on either side of Ian’s waist, and dips his head for a long flat slow lick from base to tip.

“Fuuuck,” Ian whines and his cock twitches on Mickey’s lips. He tastes so god damn good Mickey might spend the whole fucking night worshiping the cock gods who blessed the ginger with this specimen. Mickey circles his tongue around the tip and sucks on it like the best ice cream cone he’s had in years. He hollows his cheeks and takes Ian in until he hits the back of his throat. Eyes watering, he looks up to see Ian panting like he’s running a fucking marathon. “So fucking beautiful Mickey,” he rushes out between deep choked breaths.

Fuck, Mickeys not gonna get to the banging if he keeps tasting Ian on his tongue. He pulls off with a pop and stretches himself, covering Ian’s body and kissing him deep and hard. Lips, teeth, wetness and Mickey loses himself in the feel of Ian’s tongue and his hard body under him. He feels every ridge, every grove of the redhead’s muscles and their cocks rub eagerly against each other. Mickey didn’t think he’d be this hard this fast but he’s fucking insatiable for this ginger. He climbs on top of Ian’s body bracing his strong thighs on either side and reaches for that hard-straining dick.

Ian moans something Mickey can’t hear, lost in the sight of Mickey naked on top of him rubbing his ‘fuck’ hand up and down his cock. God he needs to touch him, grab him, pull him down hard and fast on his cock and let him ride the shit out of him into the mattress. But Mickey takes his time, rubbing firmly, _how are his thighs not burning_?

“Fuck, Mick, I can't, I can't, “ his stomach muscles clench, and Mickey almost loses his rhythm.

“Don’t fucking move Gallagher,” is all he says, already lost in the heat pulling in his groin. He brings Ian tip to his opening and starts sinking slowly. "So full, yes… so big… oh my god…. so fucking big.” Mickey whimpers as he sinks all the way down. He gives himself a minute to adjust, to open, to feel so fucking full he can’t ever remember being empty.

Ian’s a thrashing, begging mess under him. Head rolled back, mouth open, hands fisting sheets, and Mickey’s never seen a more beautiful sight. Mickey starts rolling his hips and Ian reaches a hand to grab his hip.

“Don’t move your hands Gallagher,” Mickey demands, twisting his hips in wider circles, grounding down, letting Ian’s cock hit his prostate over and over, “Don’t touch, don’t say a word,” he pushes out with each rotation. Ian grabs a nearby pillow and his long fingers turn white trying to obey Mickey’s orders. He opens his eyes and Mickey swears he’s about to be fucking devoured by the desperate beast underneath him. Ian bites his lip, arching his back. He’s pretty much fucking vibrating off the bed, his head shaking side to side, when Mickey stops his merciless grounding and bends down slowly to his lips.

“Please let me talk Mickey,” he begs, “Please…” his tongue sweeps Mickey’s lips, his strained arms pulled closer to his body, “I need to touch Mick… please… I want to,” he licks and kisses and bites Mickey’s bottom lip, “I need to touch you…”

Mickey kisses him harder and Ian instinctively grabs the back of his neck and runs his fingers roughly in his hair. When Mickey lets him rub his thumb across his chin, Ian takes this as permission to touch and grabs Mickey’s hip with his free hand flipping them over. Mickey huffs out a breath from being thrown, but his body melts into the bed allowing Ian a moment to grab a pillow and stick it under his lower back. Ian grabs Mickey’s wrists pinning them above his head with his left hand, squeezing a little too hard, needing to dominate, commanding Mickey’s submission, daring him to try and push out of his control, forcing Mickey’s body to obey.

Mouth over lips, with Mickey panting under him, Ian’s voice is harsh with the drive to stake his claim, “Say my name Mickey,” he tightens his grip on Mickey’s wrists.

Mickey moans deep and loud while he tilts his head allowing Ian free reign over his neck and mouth. Ian pulls out leisurely making sure to his cock rubs slowly over Mickey’s bundle of nerves. Then he just as leisurely pushes back in, lighting Mickey up from the inside out. “Say my name Mickey,” his mouth against Mickey’s ear, moving his body in and out of Mickey so slow and so good he doesn’t know how long he can keep from spilling inside his lover.

“Please, please say my name Mickey,” he almost groans, sucking and biting Mickey’s jaw bone. He knows Mickey’s close, his wrists are pulling hard taking all of Ian’s strength to hold him pinned. He’s keening incoherently while Ian continues his slow torture.

“So good… fuck…. I can’t…. fuck me…. yeah please don’t stop…” words spill out of Mickey's mouth each time Ian bottoms out and slowly pulls back. “I’m gonna cum, fuck almost there, fuck, fuck, fuck… God don’t stop, don’t let go, don’t stop…” Mickey begs and Ian swears he’s on fire, his whole body alight with electricity and the throbbing of his cock.

“Look at me Mickey,” he orders forcefully, and uses his free hand to hold Mickey’s face still. Mickey opens his eyes and fuck Ian almost cums from how turned out he looks. Eyes blown, mouth open, lips wet, lost to the way Ian owns his body and feeds him his cock over and over slow and steady. Ian runs his tongue over those puffy red lips whispering “Say my name Mickey. Say it, and I’ll let you cum” he promises while Mickey opens hungrily trying to catch Ian’s tongue with his own.

“Ian…. Fucking… Gallagher,” Mickey breathes against his mouth, and ice cracks open around his heart as he submits to all the ways Ian marks him, brands him… owns him.

With a groan Ian starts thrusting into him deep and hard. Over and over like a song with no end. “Yes,” he pumps into him, “That’s my name, that’s good Mickey…. So fucking good… So good for me, always so good. Cum for me Mickey, fuck you’re so good,” sweat moistens his skin, his back arched into a curve of pumping pleasure as he pins Mickey’s waist with his free hand holding him just the right way to fill him with fire and lightening. “Who does this ass belong to huh?” he says harshly bottoming out, inhaling Mickey’s neck, “Who do you belong to Mickey? Say it, tell me who owns this ass Mick, tell me who you belong to?” growling he chases his own release.

Mickey arches up angling his dick against his lover’s washboard stomach rubbing over and over again, the pull in his wrists a pain that has him keening for more. He loses himself in the melodious song of Ian hard words and deep thrusts. His screams the song of _Ian, Ian, Ian_ , over and over like his mouth has craved to say his name. Like his voice knows no other sound. Fuck, he’s almost there, right there, legs shaking, twitching in the electric current of white fire in his veins. Right there, at the precipice of falling, and like a hurricane, raw desire crashes into him in waves and waves of pleasure as Ian pistons in and out of him with sniper fucking precision.

Fuck! How does this beautiful beast of a ginger always make him cum untouched! He really is an instrument of destruction. Ian smiles against his mouth, “Fuck Mick you’re so hot when you cum, fucking love it when you’re so tight around me!” His thrusts become erratic, rushed, deep, “The best ass I’ve ever had, the best everything, so tight... so good, fuck I’m gonna –“ His body jerks, losing his rhythm as he spills over warm and wet inside Mickey’s heat.

Their breathing laboured, they share the afterglow calming their racing hearts. Ian can't help smiling like an idiot at how fucking beautiful Mickey looks. Skin covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tussled, catching his breath with cum spilled on his chest and stomach. Ian licks some of the cum on his chest and works his way up to suck on a nipple. Mickey moans a soft cry, too sensitive for the touch, but too weak to bat Ian away.

Ian works his mouth up kissing his neck, over his chin and captures his lips in a slow lingering kiss. “Never over you Mickey,” he breathes softly, “Never without you,” he confesses, “Never not loving you, thinking of you, wanting you… never.”

Mickey opens his eyes and Ian can see a thread of panic, hesitation... fear.

________________________

 

“Stay with me Mickey,” Ian begs, terrified of what Mickey can only assume is the obviousness of his retreat behind that ice fortress he built around himself. “Stay with me please, at least tonight.”

Mickey’s body cools slowly as the fog of lust and need dissipates around them. He pushes Ian gently to get off him, “Gotta get cleaned up man,” is all he has to give, his head now pounding with the come down from the adrenaline rush.

Ian’s face crumbles for a second too long, before he hides his heart behind a mask of confidence. He pulls out slowly, letting Mickey adjust, then pulls the condom off tying it and smiles a small, crooked smile, “I’ll go throw this out and bring a washcloth or something” he walks out of the room totally stark naked.

Mickey would shout after him, ‘put some fucking clothes on firecrotch!’ but he’s too much in his head to find the humour. _What the fuckitty fuck Milkovich_! He barely gets a chance to think about what happened when Ian rushes back in, wet towel in his hand smiling like the fucking beautiful dufus he is. He throws himself on the bed behind Mickey laughing and before Mickey has a chance to say what the fuck, Mandy comes rushing in, “Never walk around my house naked dickface unless you’re fucking – “ she stumbles in half on her ass laughing, “– my…. brother?” She does a double take, looking at the door, then at Ian smiling behind Mickey on the bed, at the door again, “Wait. Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone? Have I stumbled in another dimension where all my hopes and dreams come true?” She stares back at them like she’s never seen them before, “And why the fuck are you both still naked and uncovered while I’m in the room!” she shouts pretending disgust as she backs out of the room looking anywhere but the bed, “Fucking liars, nooo Mandy I’m not in love with him anymore,” she waves her hands imitating Mickey’s voice, “Oh yea Mandy I brought someone to the party,” she raises her pitch to sound like Ian, “Fucking soulmates with their fucking eternal love story, making the rest of us hope and pray they still love each other like some thirsty bitches.” She’s at the door holding on to the handle. “Well, you know what fuckers?” her words slur a little and yeah, she’s definitely tipsy, ”I planned this whole thing,” she cackles like a hyena, “I invited you both because I knew you losers couldn’t stay away from each other so the joke’s on you!!” she pulls the door looking back at the equally stunned looks on both men’s faces. “HA!” she sticks just her head back in laughing, “Hope you liked my trick cause you sure look like you enjoyed the fuck outta this treat!” and with that she slams the door still laughing as she makes her way down the hall.

“Well she’s a fucking psycho,” Mickey mumbles recovering from the shock of his sister’s confession.

“Yea,” Ian smiles as he looks down, “I love her evil ass so much.”

“Fuck!” Mickey looks up, suddenly remembering, “What did happen with that Batman wanna be you came here with?” he says a little roughly. Hot blades of jealousy cutting through his iangallagherfuckedmesogood high.

“Who,” Ian looks at him confused, and fuck if Mickey doesn’t love the way that warms his chest.

“The tall dude I saw you with on the stairs, is he like your… boyfriend or something?” he chokes on the words.

“What?” Ian barks chuckling, “Fuck no Mick! He’s nobody, I told you. Nothing. Just some guy I met last week on one of my tryingtoforgetMickeyescapades.” He smiles and reaches out to touch Mickeys face.

Mickey lets him, cause fuck he’s just been in his ass and made him cum all over himself, so what’s a little face touching, right?

“Please forgive me Mick,” he whispers holding Mickey’s chin in the palm of his hand, “Please still love me.”

“Ian-“ Mickey starts, but to be honest he really doesn’t know what to say. Does he still love this redheaded giant? _Yes_ , screams his thawing heart. _Fucking traitorous bitch_.

“The veil is thin tonight Mick,” Ian wraps his long arms around Mickey's waist drawing him into the heat of his naked skin. “And the ghosts, the ghosts are out, and please, please stay with me,” he breathes into the back of Mickey’s neck.

Mickey is blanketed by heat and touch and the intimacy makes him so fucking soft he can barely stand himself. “Ok scaredy-cat ok,” Mickey relents. Fuck him, he’s a sucker for being the little spoon with Ian, “I’ll stay, you don’t have to be all weird about ghosts and shit. I mean you’re a fucking South Side street kid and your mumbling about some fucking ghosts? Don’t suffocate me with you fire breathing dragon heat and I’ll stay and be your fucking protector,” he kisses the large hand now wrapped around him holding him close.

“Love you Mickey,” Ian mumbles sleepily against the back of his neck.

 _Yeah, love you too asshole_ , Mickey almost says as he drifts off to sleep, warm and easy for the first time in years.

________________________________

Mickey’s jolted awake by the most annoying banging sound.

“For fuck sakes,” he groans, opening his eyes and running a hand over his face. Where the fuck is he? Memories flood him all at once, Mandy, Halloween, party… Ian. Ian?

He looks around but the ginger’s not in bed. Was is it just a dream? Mickey sits up and his ass reminds him there’s no way that sweet soreness is from anyone other than his big dicked lover. He sighs a little, disappointment settling in. Guess it was just a one time deal than huh?

Fuck.

He reaches around looking for his shirt, finding it on the floor. Wait. What the fuck? Holding the t-shirt up in front of his face he sees the stupid grinning villain Ian loves so much, with a green sticky note attached to that creepyasfuck smile. What is it with Ian and the Joker, he shakes his head pulling the note and reading it:

_Mick,_

_Had to babysit Fran this morning._

_Its never over._

_Meet at our usual spot tonight?_

_I’ll wait._

_Forever._

_Also, your shirt smells amazing :P_

"Fucking firecrotch with his smell obsession," Mickey grumbles but he can’t stop smiling like an idiot. He takes Ian’s shirt and sniffs it, cause yes he’s this gay, and fuck, maybe there something to this scent thing cause all he smells is Ian and his dick is twitching again.

Ian.

His heart thumps and Mickey startles at feeling it beat again.

Ian.

Thump, thump.

He puts the hideous laughing shirt on.

Ian, Ian, Ian.

Ice crackles. Breaks.

Boom boom, thump thump, boom boom, thump.

Fuck!

Mickey gets up, pulls on his jeans and walks out of his sister’s house. Fucking Gallagher.


End file.
